A year after the tragic death of his close friend and fellow assassin, Ethan Halstead is ready to take up his sniper rifle once more. But his first assignment is nothing he ever expected. Ethan must hunt and retrieve a beautiful, spirited, alluring werewolf.

Knowing no other way to escape an arranged marriage, Fraya flees from her pack. As she contemplates slipping across the border and heading to South America, she is captured by a dangerously seductive vampire who plans on escorting her back to her family. Even as Fraya vows to make Ethan’s mission as difficult as possible, she can’t resist the riotous desire he sparks within her.

But Ethan isn’t the only predator that peruses Fraya. A powerful rival pack’s alpha wants to make her his mate. Will Ethan be able to keep Fraya safe and return her to her pack? Or will he surrender to temptation and claim Fraya as his own? ​

​Chapter OneLightning splintered the sky. Thunder shook the earth beneath his feet. Damp heat thickened the air. Any moment, the winds would kick up and the red hued clouds would release a torrent of rain.

Ethan loved summer storms and treasured Arizona for its monsoon season. It was only during the madness of the storm that he found peace. In those rare, precious moments, the world reflected the chaos that roiled inside him and he felt… as if he belonged.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and savored the soothing scent of the desert. To his disappointment, he would not be able to appreciate the beauty of nature’s fury. Clearing his mind, Ethan unleashed his senses. His mark was close. He could feel her. Crossing the street, he headed for the quaint coffee shop he frequently sped past. She was here, which meant he could call an end to this pointless job.

Ethan was an assassin, not a damn babysitter. He was an expert tracker and sniper, yet the Under Realm Syndicate had him chasing after a spoiled little she-wolf. He had been tasked with fetching the runaway and returning her to her pack – a complete waste of his time and talents. He couldn’t believe he had let Cole talk him into this. The fact was this case should’ve never made the list. Why the Syndicate decided to get involved was beyond his understanding. This wasn’t a kidnapping or a hostage situation. The female wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat to the human world or Under Realm society.

His annoyed growl blended with the booming thunder. Cole had insisted Ethan accept this assignment, “You should be grateful the Syndicate is willing to give you a second chance. You’ve been out of practice.”

Who could argue with that logic? Ethan had been off the map for a year. Most within the Syndicate believed he had been killed on his last mission.

I should have been.Shaking his head, he dispelled the thought. He refused to take sober trips down memory lane. He needed to focus on his task.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee was overwhelming. Ethan reigned in his supernatural senses as he stepped inside the shop. The door closed and the torrential rain began to fall. He did a quick, nonchalant sweep of the café, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. Eye contact encouraged conversation, and he was here on business not pleasure. He would grab the werewolf, take her back home, and detain her until he could make arrangements with her father. Simple.

Ethan walked to the counter. After the blonde and brunette baristas finished arguing over who would help him, he ordered and received a black coffee. The cup had both girl’s names and numbers written on it. He thanked them with a smile. They batted their lashes and insisted he stop by a college party later that night.Ethan’s shoulders shook with a light laugh.Naïve mortals.

Turning, he headed up the winding iron staircase that led to the second floor loft area. The walls were made almost entirely of glass, providing a glorious view of the storm. Students sat at the tables working on their laptops while groups lounged on the sofas discussing the world of social media.

The delicate scent of wildflowers drifted through the air, drawing his sharp gaze to the far corner. There was nothing remarkable about her presence. She appeared to fit in perfectly with the scene, as if she were just another co-ed. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a crimson sweatshirt. She sat with her feet tucked under her crisscrossed. Leaning over the table, her long dark brown hair tumbled forward, blocking his view of her face. Ethan noted the worn, tattered condition of the book she read. Her frame was small. She seemed fragile, but he knew better. She was strong, fast, and intelligent. His mark appeared to be ‘normal’ by human standards, but she was the wolf he was looking for.

Hoping everything would go smoothly, he advanced. This was a delicate situation. The female could freak out on him. She could cause a scene, and he loathed drama just as much as he loathed this particular job. It was not a search and rescue mission. No, it was a track-down-a-spoiled-brat-and-take-her-home mission. A simpleton could do it. Why it had to be done was beyond him. At twenty-four, she was an adult. She had a degree in biology and was a werewolf; she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Who cares? Grab the girl and go.

Ethan quickly reminded himself of the two basic rules: never become personally involved with your mark and strike first, ask questions later – if you cared about asking question at all.

As he approached the woman, he felt a slight tremor in the air. A warning? A threat? Someone was watching them. He set his senses loose once more, scanning the café for the source of the violent energy, but it had vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.

The girl must have felt the glimmer of danger. Her gaze snapped up and met his. Her warm, honey colored eyes were round with surprise. Her tempting red lips parted with a silent gasp. Ethan froze. She was… more than beautiful.

She blinked up at him. Her gaze innocently seductive, her mouth violently tempting, and her wild flower scent was overwhelming. His body reacted instantly. It had been years since he’d felt such a strong, instant attraction.

He watched her lick her lips; lust shot through him like a lightning strike. Oh, yes. The wolf was alluring and, to his surprise, he was disappointed that she was his mark.
“Hi,” she said with a nervous lilt to her voice.Ethan mentally shook himself and crossed over to stand at the chair opposite her. “Hi,” he replied.

Thunder rumbled; the force shook the glass walls. The girl flinched and her gaze fell from his. For a soundless moment, she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her head tilted down. The mortals gasped and laughed as another boom shook the windows.
“You may sit,” she said, her voice low, barely audible.

Ethan could smell the fear that sparked within her. Was she frightened of the storm, or what possibly lurked outside? An overwhelming sense of protectiveness settled over him and he frowned. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t the protective type. He was a killer not a savior.Focus and get this over with.
“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” he asked as he claimed the chair.

She straightened and fixed her gaze on him once more. Her expression was bland, her cute stubborn chin titled up, her shoulders back. She looked regal and refined. Every bit the aristocrat she was.
“I’m accustomed to snow storms.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Minnesota,” she answered with a hint of hesitation.He smiled and was shocked he didn’t have to fake it. “You’re a long way from home.”She shrugged and returned her attention to her book.
Ethan took a sip of the surprisingly good coffee and relaxed in his seat. He picked up a golf magazine, which rested on the table beside them, and began flipping through the pages. He wasn’t at all interested in golf. Being a vampire, he preferred keeping out of the sun. Although, contrary to popular lore, he wouldn’t burst into flame or turn to ash. He could work on his tan, he just preferred not to.

He casually glanced over at the werewolf and inwardly groaned. She was reading a list of the top ten hot spots in Chile. It appeared she was interested in sunbathing and he couldn’t stop the image of her in a bikini from cropping up in his mind even if he’d wanted to. And he certainly didnotwant to erase the image.

She sighed, closed the book, and tucked it away in her backpack, which hung off the back of her chair. She took up her latte and settled her gaze on him. Her lips turned up with a sweet smile.
“You don’t strike me as the golfing type.”He raised a brow and tossed the magazine down on the table between them. “No?”

She shook her head, her long dark curls waving around her shoulders. “Not at all. You look like you’d rather go to a shooting range than work on your golf swing.”Ethan couldn’t argue with that. He’d had his basement converted into an indoor gun range.
“Very observant,” he said. “What about you? What’s your hobby?”

She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated. Ethan wanted to bite it for her. “Traveling. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. You know, see the world, and experience different cultures.”
“Is that what your trip to Arizona is all about?” he asked.
“More or less,” she answered with a shrug.
“Well, South America is beautiful.”Her eyes grew wide. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. Excitement laced her voice, “You’ve been?”

Ethan shifted closer and reached for her hand. The air trembled with another flicker of danger just before the lights went out. Darkness flooded the café.

His mark shoved away from the table, snatched her backpack, and darted toward the stairs. Ethan was right behind her. The mortals grumbled complaints, some laughed, while others stumbled through the dark.

She was about to reach the exit when the door flew open, crashing against the wall. Humans screamed and shouted in alarm. The girl froze, and Ethan cursed. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one searching for her. He could sense the alpha’s presence and, judging by his target’s reaction, so could she.

Ethan grabbed her wrist. She swung around. Her fist raised, her honey colored eyes glowed, and her fangs bared. Shadows of a wolf’s fierce visage flickered over the fine features of her face. Her fierce growl vibrated her entire body. Ethan ignored the warning and tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the emergency exit at the back of the coffee shop.He pushed the door open. His mark tried to twist free of his hold, but he held her firm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded, her voice roughened by her partial transformation.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.”She growled and fought harder. He wasn’t surprised by her strength and knew she was still holding back. So was he.Pushing her now soaked and tangled hair from her face, she snarled, “What’s going on?”
“I thought it was obvious,” he said.
“That you’re attempting to kidnap me?”Ethan shook his head. “No. That you have an alpha hunting your ass.”
Her stare was one of confusion, awe, and horror. She stopped, and he paused. Literally dragging her across the street would draw unwanted attention. He reluctantly released her wrist. She was soft and warm while he was hard and cold. A frown creased his brow when the sharp sense of loss pricked his long dead heart.On some level, he’d enjoyed the feel of her.She blinked up at him. Her large, honey eyes sparkled with fear. “W-what did you say?”His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I’ll explain. For now, come with me.”She shook her head.Ethan glanced over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot for any sign of the alpha. He could sense the wolf was close.
“We don’t have much time. We need to go.”The woman fell back a step and Ethan’s body tensed. His instincts flared. She retreated another step. Would she run? A part of him wished she would. He loved the chase. The hunt. His heart began to pound, his pupils dilated, and his fangs began to sharpen, all in anticipation.
“Don’t,” he warned.
​LINK TO FIRST 3 Chaptershttp://amandajgreene.blogspot.com/2015/04/extended-excerpt-surrender-to-chase.html

​Amanda J. Greene is a paranormal romance author. When she is not writing, she can be found playing the role of a university student who also works full time. She lives in Southern California with her very supportive husband and their two dogs. Doing all the above and being a military wife is not easy, but rewarding! Of course, she accomplishes everything with a strong cup of coffee in her hand.
Amanda is also an associate reviewer on The Book Nympho.

Guitarist Nick Crandall lost the most important thing in his lifeâhis bandâjust as he was falling in love. A year has passed, and Oblivion is returning from hiatus. And Nick is ready to ask Lila to spend forever with him, even if he won't have his best friend at his side for the ceremony.

Simon has spent the past year trying to find his way back to the thing that sustained him in his darkest hours, then grew to be his biggest demon. Margo has been at his side, but she's tired of him denying his dreams. With her help, heâs ready to admit itâs showtime.

Perhaps he's even ready to stand up for his best friendâ¦and face him on the stage that united them so long ago.

Itâs do or die, one more time.

**The guysâand their womenâare in the driver's seat in Owned, and the ride's gonna rock. This is the final book in the Lost in Oblivion rockstar series.**

USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn likes music and men, so she figured why not write about both? When she's not writing, she's screaming at men's college basketball games on TV, playing her music too loud or causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.

USA Today bestselling author Taryn Elliott is obsessed with rock stars, men, and her unending playlists--maximizing these things seemed like a very good idea. When she's not writing, she's losing hours to hot men on TV, and/or a graphic design project. Multitasking is her middle name.

They decided to combine forces and found that hey...this writing deal is even more awesome when you collaborate with your best friend.

​ A Legend is Born By T.L. Phillips Genre: Paranormal Romance

​From orphan at fourteen to immortal royalty at nineteen, how the heck did that happen?

Nineteen-year-old Lissa witnessed the brutal murder of her parents by blood-thirsty vampires at the tender age of fourteen. She would have suffered the same unpleasant fate had tall, dark, and mysterious stranger Max not intervened. Every night since Lissa, along with an elite group of fighters, trains and patrols the mostly abandoned streets around the city of Buffalo, NY. They quietly thwart the dastardly plans of rogue vampires and cursed shifters in an attempt to protect mankind.

Having been told that all shifters are evil, Lissa is taken by surprise when she learns that there are good ones in the world - the Guardians. And she's bonded with one of them, an ultra-rare occurrence amongst Guardians in recent years and unheard of between a Guardian and a mortal. When a typically fatal injury threatens to end her, her bond-mate throws caution to the wind and uses his own blood to save her. The consequences could be disastrous when Lissa wakes up to find she is no longer human, and not only a shifter herself but the shifter queen.

​I was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to touch her, to take her in my arms and hold her. I closed the gap between us in three steps. I never meant for her to worry about me. It was my job to protect them. I let my head fall beside hers until my lips were next to her ear and inhaled her sweet scent. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you.”My lips brushed across her earlobe, and her body shuddered. I should have pulled away, put some distance between us and regained my composure. However, the scent of her shampoo mixed with her desire kept me planted there, our bodies hovering against each other without touching.Her voice was low and husky, barely a whisper. “Max...”I brushed my lips across the scar along her jaw, our hearts racing in our chests. Before I realized what was happening, my lips were pressing down on hers unleashing years of pent-up desire. Her body arched forward, encouraging me to continue. I wove my fingers through her hair as I cradled the back of her head in my palm, leaving her no room to back away from me.My free hand trailed the soft, creamy flesh on her arm, leaving a sea of goose bumps in its wake. Lissa's body relaxed into mine with a muffled moan as I traced her perfect lips with my tongue. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling us closer together. I deepened the kiss. Excitement pulsed through my body as I instinctively guided us to her bed.She felt so good in my arms, like she was made to be there. I gently pulled her down onto the bed on top of me, never letting our lips lose contact. My breath caught in my chest as she took control of the kiss. She ran her fingers through my hair and moaned with pleasure as she thrust her tongue deeper into my mouth.I ran my hands down her back, encircling her in my arms. A jolt of electricity shot through me as my hand brushed across the exposed flesh of the small of her back, and I froze. In all my years, never had I experienced anything like it. My mother used to tell me that I would know when I found my one.From the way her body fit perfectly against mine to its reaction to my touch, I knew she was the one. My mate. My only thought after that was making her mine. I needed her more than she could ever imagine.It was that blinding, deafening, all-consuming kind of need that only comes along once in a lifetime. The fire raged deep in my soul. Burning me to the bone with the knowledge that if I didn't claim her at that moment, it would kill me for sure.

​T.L. Phillips is a 30-something stay-at-home caretaker that loves to curl up with her cat and a great book. As a writer, she strives to tell compelling stories that readers will enjoy curling up with. When she’s not occupied with the myriad of tasks above, she’s an avid gamer with a love for all things crafty from crocheting to wood-burning and all things in between.

Maddox ButlerSome people say you can’t fall in love at 18. But I did. And the man of my dreams? Jaris Black. He was also 18.Our first year at medical school we moved in together. It was…perfect.Until…I haven’t seen or talked to him in six years. But I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Jaris is a very successful doctor, which is no surprise to me. Still living in Unit H at Mockingbird Place.God, how I’ve missed him.I won’t drag Jaris into the chaos that is my life. No. I won’t. But my mother who is dying has requested to see him. They were so close. Still are. I had to honor Mom’s wish. I called him and he’s arriving in an hour. Can I keep my feelings hidden from him? I need to, for his sake.Buy Links:Kindle UnlimitedAmazon:https://goo.gl/xdDEcnAmazon CA:https://goo.gl/Twj2EFAmazon UK:https://goo.gl/4a5bUjAmazon AU: https://goo.gl/ZOXmx3
​

I stand by my front window, where the light is best this time of day, gazing at the white void, praying for inspiration. The blank canvas taunts me. Where to begin? It’s always like this when I start a new painting. It has to mean something. I need feeling and life. Right now, all I have is emptiness.My roommate and best friend, Jackson, always teases me about my process—or in his words my “idiosyncrasies.” My last painting took me over a month to complete, but the first ten days was like this one, staring at the canvas before I pressed a brush filled with paint to its surface.Out of the corner of my eye, through the window, I see one of my new neighbors walking up the sidewalk. Ava Stone is pregnant and is carrying a big box. In her current condition I wonder if she should be lifting heavy things.She and her good-looking cowboy, Luke Wagner, are moving into the apartment next to Jackson’s and mine—Unit E. That leaves Oliver’s old apartment, Unit F, as the only vacancy at Mockingbird Place. I met the couple at the complex’s yard sale when they were taking a look at the apartment. They were living in a motel so that Ava could start her classes at the university on time until they could find a place to rent. Ava and Luke’s new home had been empty for quite some time. Until now. I’m glad it’s finally going to be occupied and hope the new couple will be good neighbors. And most of all I have to stop thinking about one of them.I’ve never been attracted to cowboys before, but there is something about Luke that I can’t quite seem to shake. But I need to. He’s obviously taken and straight.When Ava smiles at me as she turns to go into her apartment, I wave.Glancing back at my canvas, I feel so frustrated. I’m no closer to an idea than before. Why do I do this to myself? No one will ever see this work when it’s completed. This painting is for my eyes only now that Malcolm is gone. He was the only one I was ever comfortable sharing my work with. He got it. He knew what I was trying to say with each piece.Like everyone else at Mockingbird Place, I thought he would live forever, even though he was eighty-two when he died. In June, we had his memorial in the courtyard and planted a tree in his honor near the pool.I see Ava heading back to the parking lot and wonder how many more boxes she and her boyfriend have to unload. I decide to finish my coffee before I put my brushes away and help them.I step back from the blank canvas. Should I paint another portrait of Malcolm? No. I just can’t bring myself to paint him again. It hurts too much. I need more time. Right now, I could use an idea for this canvas, but I’m at a total loss. Damn it.My art continues to be therapeutic for me. When I was twelve years old my counselor suggested art therapy and I found my passion. I can place myself inside my paintings, feeling the breeze on my skin or hearing the crashing of the waves on the shore. I’m there and I don’t feel the pain. Still, my paintings allow me to gaze into the darkness of my past. They also help me release the tension and anxiety.Actually, I wish all of my paintings could remain private. Each is so personal and carries its own meaning. Whenever anyone looks at my paintings I feel exposed and vulnerable.Dirty.I wonder if people can see my younger self weeping from the despair in my brush strokes. I definitely can, no matter the composition I’ve created, whether beach or mountain scene, whether wild animal or newborn baby, whether impressionistic or realistic. Each painting carries drops of the pain from my past.Two of my pieces were on display for my professors to judge. I wonder if it was worth the As I got on both, because it nearly wrecked me until I was able to take them back to my storage unit. That’s where I keep my completed paintings.This semester is so much better than last. I have a fantastic schedule and only have to be on campus two days a week. The rest of the week is mine. All mine. And the classes that I am taking don’t require students to create and present a work of art, unlike last semester.As I put my empty cup down, I see Ava collapse and the box she was carrying crash to the ground.A blast of electricity shoots through my body, and I toss my brushes aside and rush out my door.“Ava. Ava.” I lift her head off the ground and start shouting for her boyfriend. “Luke. Get out here. Ava has passed out.”Where the hell is he?Her eyes open. “What happened?”“You passed out and fell,” I tell her.“Oh no.” Ava rubs her hands over her belly. “Thank God, I just felt a kick. I think the baby is fine.”Kick or not, I know she needs to see a doctor. “Where’s Luke?”Before she can answer, I see him running up the sidewalk.He kneels down next to me and shoves a sack in my chest. “My God, Ava, what happened?” he asks in his thick West Texas accent. “Are you okay?"

Rose Briar claims no responsibility for the act that led to her imprisonment in an asylum. She wants to escape, until terrifying nightmares make her question her sanity and reach out to her doctor. He’s understanding and caring in ways her parents never have been, but as her walls tumble down and Rose admits fault, a fellow patient warns her to stop the medications. Phillip believes the doctor is evil and they’ll never make it out of the facility alive. Trusting him might be just the thing to save her. Or it might prove the asylum is exactly where she needs to be.Link to Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27841704-asleep

This was an absolutely thrilling, intriguing book! Immediately, I was drawn into the dark world of a mental asylum steeped in mystery and hidden plots. The intrigue kept me sitting on the edge of my seat and racing to see what would happen next! The writing was fantastic, the storyline unique, and the characters were very complex and well developed. I loved how the story slowly unveils mysteries and has tons of surprise twists that had me gripping my tablet with white knuckles. There were quite a few scary and thrilling nightmarish moments that sent chills up my spine and satisfied my craving for devious horror. I thoroughly enjoyed this thrilling book and can't wait to read more from this author!!

​I’m happily married to the love of my life (don’t gag) and raising three beautiful children in the gorgeous state of Virginia. We live just outside Washington, D.C., and every day I wake up to find myself stuck in traffic trying to get there.
The horrid commute gives me plenty of time to zone out and think about my characters in full, brilliant details (I’m a safe driver; don’t worry). Stories give me a way to forget about the sometimes smelly strangers sitting next to me on the fifty mile trek into town (I pick up hitchhikers every day. True story. Check out www.slug-lines.com if you don’t believe me).
I’ve been a part of organized hitchhiking for nearly fifteen years, but that’s just one small aspect of my oh-so-large life. When I’m not working, commuting, or chasing after my three children (four if you count the man), you can usually find me outside talking to my chickens like they’re the cutest things in the world (they are), or training my amazing dogs how to herd said chickens (which they love), or curled up on the sofa with a good book (why can’t that be 100% of the time?).
I hope you love my stories (or just like them a little; that would be okay, too). And I hope that one day you find your passion, because there’s nothing in life better than doing what you love while surrounded by people you love.

Cody Sanderson wasn't looking for a life on the run, but one mistake has cost him his freedom. If he gets caught, it might cost him his life. The man he hooked up with for a night wasn't a man after all, but a beast intent on owning Cody.

But Cody isn't anyone's to keep. He will evade capture and die before he lets himself be caged by a monster. When he's finally caught, he thinks he's about to be taken to the one man he doesn't want to see ever again. Instead, he's offered protection and a solution that will keep him safe.

The only thing is, he'd have to be mated to one of the very things he feared mostâa wolf shifter. Cody's not so sure the risk is worth taking.

It was happening again. Cody Sanderson fought against the instinct to turn and look behind him. The uncomfortable sensation of being watched made his spine itch. He finished the last of his beer and set the bottle on the grungy table. The bar heâd stopped in at was a few steps below a dive, not the kind of place heâd hung out at in Texas at all. Heâd hoped that would throw Ansel off his trail. Maybe it had, and whoever watched Cody had nothing to do with Ansel at all.

Or maybe Ansel had found him. Again.

Cody wiped his mouth and pushed to his feet. The legs of the chair scraped noisily on the uneven floor, timed, much to his displeasure, with a pause in the country music that had been blaring from an ancient-looking jukebox a half dozen feet away. Cody hadnât been listening to the songâitâd been a background noise to his own chaotic thoughtsâand he didnât know if the song had ended naturally or if someone had stopped the music. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but paranoia was all that had kept him alive thus far.

He kept his head down as he pushed the chair back in, a ridiculous thing to do in a bar like this one. Old habits and ingrained manners made him do it, though, and he felt like it marked him as the outsider he was. It was definitely past time for him to get out of there.

The jukebox didnât start up again as he made his way toward the exit. Codyâs skin prickled with goosebumps as he walked. The utter lack of conversations made him want to run screaming from the place. He felt like everyone watched him, and if they were, it couldnât mean anything good for him at all.

He tried to think, to pinpoint if heâd done anything that might have made him a target there. Nothing came to mind. He hadnât done more than order a beer and a burger, had been careful not to smile or stare anyone in the eyes for longer than necessary. Keeping his gaze averted would have marked him as prey as surely as staring too long would have.

What a crazy, unbelievable world to live in. And heâd had no idea just how crazy and unbelievable until heâd stumbled upon Anselâs secret. For that bit of stupidity, heâd have to spend the rest of his life on the run, on the lookout.

If he survived tonight. His footsteps seemed abnormally loud as he strode toward the door. The scents of stale beer and cigarette smoke paled against the rancid sweat odor that clung to him. If Cody could smell his own fear, then so could any predators.

He struggled to keep from running, to keep his steps even. Showing fear would be a mistake he might not survive. His palms were slick as he reached for the door handle, but he didnât lose his grip on it. Cody opened the door, and the crisp, cold air that greeted him chilled him to the bone.

He stepped outside. The sound of the door closing behind him didnât ease his fears any. Every one of his senses was on alert; Cody had learned to listen to his instincts in the past few months. He held himself still, barely daring to breathe as he waited. When music blared suddenly from inside the bar, Cody bit back a yelp but couldnât repress his bodyâs reaction otherwise. He jolted as if heâd been jabbed with a cattle prod, and it broke his reserve, sending him running to his motorcycle.

Stop running.

Cody told himself that over and over again, but he knew heâd never be safe, and heâd only be able to stop running when he was captured by Ansel or dead. Given those two choices, he knew which one heâd prefer.

About the Author:

Bailey Bradford is a married mom of four who spends most of the day writing, either on stories or at the blog. She loves to write as much as she loves to read. Baily is generally quiet and laid back, choosing to let things slide off rather than stick and irritate her. Although like many authors, she finds it a challenge to talk about herself, but she does answer emails and invites readers to leave comments on her blog if thereâs something specific theyâd like to know.

This was a completely intriguing short read! The storyline was complex and unique, the characters were complex and emotional and the romance was oh-so-sizzling hot! Most shifter romances I read are about two (or more) shifters, so it was very unique and refreshing reading about a shifter ensnaring a human mate! There was plenty of plot twists and intrigue that had me racing to see what would happen next and was very well written. While the end wasn't quite a cliffhanger, it did end with an opening that left my mind turning. I completely enjoyed this quick read and would love to see more from this author!

​ The Blue Ridge Project The ProjectBook One By Neil Rochford Genre: Dark Suspense/Paranormal Date of Publication: May 6 2016 Number of pages: 260

​ Conspiracy. Murder. Secret experiments. Mind control. A detective, a journalist and a rich deviant struggle with their pasts as their actions set them on a collision course with each other and The Project. Detective Andrea Nox has been asked to quietly investigate a bizarre and violent murder-suicide that could have consequences for Beacon City and the people in charge. Dead ends and odd clues are hindering her efforts, and when another similar murder occurs, she has to juggle the investigation and her own troubled past with the Beacon City Police Department. Journalist Robert Duncan is visiting home after a personal crisis when the unthinkable happens, and secrets are unearthed about his family and his place in it. His involvement in a dangerous and far-reaching conspiracy grows as he uncovers information that implicates powerful people in horrible crimes. Frank Mortimer, disturbed son of a wealthy and influential family, is taking part in an experimental program that has promised to make him better. However, with the shadowy and powerful group known only as The Project behind the program, what he is getting better at could prove disastrous for everyone else, as a dangerous power is unlocked inside him... Their paths will converge in a shocking story of murder, conspiracy and clandestine experiments taking place that could change the world.

The car that had followed Frank’s van out of the city rolled down the same route Frank had taken, belching exhaust occasionally. It was a gray sedan, with a bumper sticker that said 'If You’re Reading This, You’re Too Close!' As with Frank’s van, the driver had chosen a car that wouldn’t draw attention or stick in a memory. It was as if the owner had used the word “nondescript” when the salesperson asked what type of car he wanted.Said owner was Graham Turner, a self-made journalist according to him, a bottom-feeding paparazzo according to almost everybody else. His purview was the lifestyles of the rich, the famous, and the mentionables, especially their bad habits and indiscretions. The most money was to be made in the latter and Turner had made his meager living through catching people of note with their pants down, figuratively or otherwise.His mission today was to catch a Mortimer doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. A picture of the son, Frank, doing something untoward could pay out massively. Turner didn’t care if it was through sale of the picture or blackmail, just as long as he got his payday.He was sure the squeaky-clean bachelor was up to no good, driving out here in the middle of nowhere in a busted-up van when his family was rich enough to have a foundation in their name. Turner parked a good distance from the van, reached around to the back seat to grab his camera with the long-distance lens, and stepped out onto the tarmac.He began to feel ill immediately. He broke out in a sweat and his stomach churned like a washing machine at the start of a spin cycle. He stood leaning against the front of the car for a second, a headache thumping behind his eyeballs, and a loud ringing in his ears. He wiped his soaked forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and started to make his way through the grass, searching for a decent vantage point.Around forty paces in, close to the warehouse, his headache intensified massively. The pain shot up and down his body, and he felt a pop inside his skull. His left leg went dead and useless beneath him, and he groaned as he fell to his knees. The camera fell and smashed apart on the ground. He heard another pop, like a tiny balloon being pricked with a needle inside his ears, then he fell forward onto the remains of his equipment.The man with 'SECURITY' written across his cap came sauntering over the grass toward Turner’s body. He rolled it over with one boot-clad foot and saw the burst capillaries in Turner’s eyes: They were as red as the eyes of a B-movie vampire, and just as dead.Hell of a tune they play, the man thought as he went through Turner’s pockets for the keys to the gray sedan. As he stood up, he double-checked his earplugs, as he often did after finding someone who had come too close, and strolled over to the car to put it out of sight. The body could wait. He couldn’t even see it from the car, the grass deep enough to hide it. He saw a small flock of birds flying overhead, wheeling to make a wide detour around the building nearby.Birds are smarter than people. He chuckled, proud of his philosophical revelation, and got into the driver’s seat of the almost unnoticeable car.

This was an absolutely awesome read! I was immediately captivated from the very beginning and almost obsessive about reading this as fast as I could! The writing was just phenomenally great! The storyline was very unique with tons of twists, the characters were very complex and intriguing, and the descriptions were exquisite. This story definitely fed my darker side with some gruesome crime scenes and some thrilling sleuthing work. There were plenty of twists and intrigue that kept me sitting on the edge of my seat and devouring this book as quick as I could. I absolutely enjoyed this thrilling book and would love to read more from this author! I would strongly recommend this book to anybody who loves thrillers, crime novels or just a really intriguing read!

​Neil Rochford is a freelance writer who loves fiction where bad things happen. After more than five years traveling from continent to continent and a few short stories, he finally got to work on his first book, and hopes to continue writing as many as he can. Originally from Ireland, he speaks three languages and has lived in Estonia, Brazil, France and Spain. He is a staff writer for the popular Irish podcast and website Those Conspiracy Guys.

When he is summoned to the royal castle, Rochus anticipates nothing more than a particularly difficult assignment. The bothersome journey is almost made worthwhile when he is propositioned by a young, beautiful dragon, Tilo, who seems untroubled by the fact that Rochus is a necromancer.

When Rochus arrives at the castle he is ordered to marry the very same dragon he spent the night with. Though Rochus would rather sign papers and return home, he is helpless against Tilo's pleas for help, even if it means spending more time around a man he is desperately drawn to but who doesn’t seem to want him.

Rochus pulled off his spectacles and wiped them clean as the door of the tavern slammed shut behind him. Noise washed over him, along with the smell of cheap food and too many unwashed people, an undercurrent of smoke, and the faint tingle of magic. He stared through the large, open archway into the dining hall, the need for food warring with a need for solitude and a reluctance to endure the stares that would come when everyone realized what he was.

But he detested hiding in his room like he was something to be ashamed of, and hiding wouldn't stop the rumors or whispers. So he slipped his spectacles back on and approached the counter, pushing back the hood of his cloak. He set two worn, gleaming coins on the counter, ignoring the wide eyes and gaping mouth of the man behind it. "A room, a bath, supper, and breakfast."

"Supper and—" The man snapped his mouth shut. "Of course, magus. Um…" He picked up the coins, eyes flitting about nervously. So close to the royal castle, one would think they'd be more used to the likes of Rochus, but then again, most of his kind preferred to avoid undue attention, and the rest were spoiled brats who'd never settle at a cheap tavern when the royal castle was only a few more hours away.

Stifling a sigh, Rochus answered the question the man couldn't quite get out. "Pig or cow blood will work fine, and chicken or some other fowl if that's the best you can muster. A full pitcher of it, though merely a cup will suffice if more cannot be found. Not horse." They were far too expensive to drain, and the taste wasn't worth it.

"Y-yes, magus. Um." The man licked his lips. "Will you want to see the room first or go straight to the dining hall?"

"The room, and I'll take the bath after I've dined."

The man murmured another affirmative, tucked the coins away, and slid a key across the counter. "Up the stairs, all the way at the very end of that first hall."

"My thanks," Rochus replied and resettled his saddlebags on his shoulder before heading up the dark, creaky steps and down the long hallway. It branched off in three places, but as promised, his was the room at the very back of the first, main hallway.

It smelled of dust and disuse, with a slight tingling-tang of old, faded magic. Powerful magic, likely wards or some other cage meant to keep something in. But the inn had once been a castle in its own right, before it had been torn down and rebuilt, changed to something less expensive and more profitable than an empty fortress. It wasn't surprising remnants of the fortress remained in more than the old stones.

He dropped his saddlebags on the bed and quickly sent his heavy travel cloak after them. Removing his spectacles, he combed fingers through his short, sweat-damp hair. In the dark room, with nothing but slips of moonlight to lend visibility, his hair appeared black. Better lighting would prove it to be blue, so too his nails and teeth. It was the teeth that always made people most uncomfortable—dark blue, some more pointed than they should be, all the more stark against his too-white skin.

Rochus briefly considered changing into fresh clothes, but there was little point until after he'd had a bath—and no telling what would happen in the dining hall. It would hardly be the first time some country bumpkins or foreign nitwits wailed superstitious nonsense and tried to kill him, nevermind he reported directly to the crown.

He smoothed out his robes, frowning at a small tear in the right sleeve. He'd have to stitch it later after his bath.
For the moment, it was time for supper, and hopefully he'd get to enjoy it in peace.

Heading back downstairs, Rochus walked into and through the dining hall, keeping his head up even when the whispers started.

Necromancer.

Half-dead.

Blood-drinker.

His lips curled briefly when he heard someone ask their companion if Rochus was a vampire. As though he was one of those needle-teethed, full-dead mongrels. He drank blood and his teeth were meant for hunting, but it wasn't the same thing. His teeth were more like those of a wolf—teeth he did not use thus because he was a civilized, capable necromancer of forty-three, not some ravening monster.

Rochus sat down at a table in the corner where he wasn't too close to the fire but would still be warm and would be able to see anyone who tried to approach him.

A couple of minutes after he sat, a pale-faced young man brought him a pitcher and cup with faintly trembling hands. Rochus slid a coin across the table, nodding for him to take it. The boy took it and skittered away, and the whispers increased as Rochus poured himself a cup of blood and sipped it. Pig, which he preferred, save for those rare occasions he was able to get something as decadent as human.

He took several more sips, savored the way it warmed him through. There was nothing he hated more than being cold, but it was the one thing he would always be due to what was called his half-dead state. He wasn't actually dead, half or otherwise, but necromancy demanded a high price, drained away half his spirit, replaced it with those unique spiritual energies he needed to wield his strange magic. The physical effects—the corpse white skin, the death-black bones, the need for food replaced by a need for blood—were what earned necromancers the reputation of being half-dead.

This was actually a really great book! I've been reading a lot of the books in the Dubious collection lately and my main complaint about them are that they're too short. This one was actually of a decent length! The storyline was definitely original, the characters were very unique and complex, the dialogue was spot on, and the romance was sizzling hot! I absolutely loved how unique the characters were and how much depth they actually had! From the very beginning, I was completely captivated by this fantastic story and devoured this book in just one sitting. I adored the supernatural/ fantasy theme of this book- a necromancer and were-dragon- that's a combo I've never read before! The romance was absolutely sizzling hot between these two guys! This was much more than just a dirty romance though! There was plenty of action and plot twists thrown in as well to make this into a full-fledged, completely absorbing story. I thoroughly enjoyed this fantastic book and will definitely be on the lookout for more from this author!

They created a monster. Trained by the army, enhanced by medical experimentation, and tested in war. What happens to the creature when the war ends and the man awakens? SSgt. Ryder was born, bred, and enhanced as a warrior, but when he returns home to his new wifeâexiled from the army along with the rest of his disgraced teamâhe faces mounting anger and paranoia. When a fellow soldier does the unthinkable, Ryder disappears to protect his wife, but his departure leaves a vacuum filled with danger. Can he save her or will he lose himself to the beast and destroy what matters most? Abandoned most of her life, Lauren Ryder married thinking she had finally found stability, until her new husband disappeared. He returns altered and secretive. Can she forgive him for crushing her dreams of picket fences and happily ever after? Will she survive what he has become? The surviving members of Team Fear are out of the military and in a world of secrets, lies, and cover-ups in this new romantic suspense series by Cindy Skaggs.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authorâs imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Ryder shifted through the crowd gathering behind the police barricade. A local news crew panned the scene from a vantage point to his left. In front of him, a young blonde lifted a wide-eyed toddler to her hip, giving the kid a better view. Gunshots fired had turned into a three-ring circus complete with spectators and media crews.

Crime scene tape snapped under his fingers before he made the conscious choice to proceed. A uniform cop moved to intercept him, but Ryder stopped him with a glare. Menace was an art form heâd studied for twelve years in the Army. He knew how to intimidate without a word, without a weapon. Could kill as easily.

No one stood between Ryder and his men. Ryder dialed back the tension bunching his shoulders. He scanned the scene, gauging overall mood and readiness. Time didnât allow for more than superficial recon.

A row of patrol cars created a barricade behind which officers lined up, guns drawn. They faced a nondescript ranch house on five acres of hard dirt. A pickup truck was parked under a stand of trees, the only shade for a good ten miles. The shade didnât help much; it was Texas summer hot.

Nervous energy spread like gossip through the officers on this side of the scene. They were getting trigger-happy the longer the standoff lasted. Jittery men did stupid things.

Ryder walked through the line of patrol cars. No one noticed until he placed his body between the police and the scene of the crime. A last line of defense for the soldier in the barricaded house.

Expletives exploded behind the cop cars. Ryder let loose a sarcastic grin and turned; sure he had their attention now. He lifted his hands so they didnât feel compelled to shoot him. The energy in the open field shifted from unease to outright distrust. Sweaty grips tightened on guns. Every eye in the area focused on Ryder and judged him a million kinds of fool.

Ryder met their uncertainty with cool resolve. Todayâs mission involved getting PFC Madigan out alive, which put Ryder in the hot seat. Times like this, he missed the adrenaline rush: the increased heart rate, the quicker thinking, and increased energy that presaged a good fight.

âSir, step back,â a male voice spoke into a bullhorn.

Ryder shook his head no. He raised his voice for the camera and the crowd. He didnât need a bullhorn. âI served with the man inside the house. You want this to end peacefully?â He nodded at the camera. âLet me go in and talk to him.â

More expletives before a tall, slender man wearing a ballistics vest stepped to the west end of the barricaded cars. Tall like a Jolly Green, the manâs shadow stretched across the desert, the setting sun casting him in silhouette. Any half-trained soldier coming off a three-day bender could take him out. The soldier trapped in the house qualified as exceptionally trained. Ryder had done the training.

Ryder held his position, protecting both sides from bloodshed. âSheriff,â he guessed, rightly so when the man nodded. âI was on the phone with your suspect when you arrived on scene. Weâve established rapport. Let me go in before the situation escalates.â

It wasnât a question. Ryder didnât back down. Another news van pulled up in a billow of dust. The crew jumped out, filming on the fly.

A sidebar conversation happened behind the cars while the cameras whirred. Even at sunset, the temps were in the triple digits. The heat factor fueled tempers. Voices raised and lowered with curses and outrage.

Standing between the police and their suspect, Ryder didnât break a sweat. He absorbed the heat, used it to fuel his system. Guns from both sides pointed at him. The police maintained their vigil, while inside, Madigan would do the same, his sole focus on the troops massing in his front yard. âMad Dogâ Madigan was a weapons specialist. He would have the scene covered.

While the sheriff and his men deliberated, Ryderâs backup moved into position through the rear of the house.

The phone in his back pocket buzzed with an incoming call. He reached and guns lifted to the top of the cars. His hands stayed steady as he pulled the phone out, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. The voice on the other end reached his ears before the phone did.

âPlease tell me these reports arenât live.â The Texas drawl didnât calm the panic in her voice. He could picture her pretty face, brows raised in frustration. Her hands fluttering as she spoke.

âTheyâre live.â Regret closed his eyes for a barely perceptible moment. Lauren. Heâd told her he had to go help an Army buddy. âThis is me helping a friend.â

âWith guns pointed at you?â

âSometimes, thatâs what it takes, baby. I gotta go.â

âRyderââ

He clicked off and dialed Madigan. The call connected without a word spoken. The soldierâs breathing pattern was high and erratic, which concerned Ryder more than the police standoff. Every damn thing about this situation felt wrong. None of this shit was the way they were trained. Hell, Ryder would have sworn emotion had been beaten out of them until he heard the sob on the other end of the line.

âThis is bad, Ryder.â

âNo shit.â He kept his tone low and measured, aware of the audience.

âDo you thinkââ

âIâm coming in whether they let me or not. Keep it holstered.â He pocketed the phone and looked across the yard to the sheriff. The other manâs gaze hid in twilight shadows, but his stance read more relaxed than the rest of his men. âSheriff, I have him on the phone. This is your one chance to end this standoff without bloodshed.â

âHow do I know youâre not taking another weapon inside?â

The smirk came natural to Ryder. Who was the sheriff kidding? Madigan stockpiled enough weaponry to start a civil war. The cache of weapons was what kept the sheriffâs men hunkered down instead of going inside. Ryder lifted his shirt and turned slowly, he even smiled for the cameras as he proved he wasnât armed or dangerous. Well, the dangerous part was open for interpretation. âIâm not losing another soldier, Sheriff. Thatâs a promise I made my men when we came back.â

There wasnât a soldier alive who didnât know the odds. Twenty-two suicides a day. Not today. The words were a prayer. Too bad Ryder had nothing left to believe in or pray to. Sometimes you had to handle shit on your own.

âYou can shoot me in the back for the cameras if you want, but Iâm going in.â

He didnât wait for a response. The dirt shifted under his boots as he spun and headed to the front porch. Ants circled a discarded pizza box on the welcome mat. The stench of rancid cheese hit him as he grabbed the doorknob, which turned easily in his hand. Ryder pushed into the house. Gloom shrouded the entryway.

âClose the door.â The voice came from the black void several feet to the right. âLock it.â

âNot my first rodeo,â he said, but moved to comply. âYou hung up on me earlier today, Mad Dog. We didnât finish our conversation.â

They followed a strict protocol. No matter where a soldier lived, if he called, someone came running. No questions. They werenât going to be part of some fucked-up statistic. Ryder was geographically closest to Madigan, so he dropped everything, kissed his new wife, and hit the highway. Rose had moved in from the north, and theyâd arrived about the same time.

âI shouldnât have called. Shouldnât have involved you. I woke upââ Another hiccup from a hardened warrior. What the ever-loving hell?

âNightmare?â They happened, and when they did, they felt real. Sounded real.

âI called before I had time to pull my head out.â Madiganâs tone calmed. âBefore I could pin down what was real, a shitload of cop cars came barreling down the drive. How the fuck did they know to show up?â

âGood question.â Ryder kept his tone slow and easy as he catalogued the surroundings, waiting for his backup to come at Madigan from behind. Ryder was the distraction. They werenât losing another soldier.

âYou did the right thing, calling me. Thatâs the deal. Live by the team.â They might be out of the Army, might be disillusioned and disgraced, but they were still a fucking team.

âI lost time today, Ry.â

Could they still be having side effects after all these months? âHow much time?â

âHours.â The anguish in Madiganâs voice turned the dark hall into a black hole. âIâm afraid to turn on the light. Find out whatâs real.â

âThe hell you are.â No fear wasnât just a motto. âPack that shit up. Concentrate on the situation. Where are Maggie and the baby?â

âTheyâre my life. You know that?â

âI do. So letâs end this so you can get back to living.â

Sniffling sounded from a corner and Ryder was closer to triangulating Madiganâs position. He could take him in the murky light, but Madiganâs eyes were already acclimated to the black void. Heâd have the upper hand. Darkness was Ryderâs friend, helped him focus, but today, night vision didnât give him the advantage. Ryder reached to the wall and patted until he hit a switch. He flipped the light.

âFuck.â Madigan shielded his eyes with one hand while the other aimed a gun at Ryder.

Where the hell was Ryderâs backup? Rose was supposed to take Madigan from behind, but Mad Dogâs back was now against a wall. Madigan backed himself into a corner looking every bit like his call sign: Mad Dog. A halo of red hair capped a tall, lean body smeared with war paint. The wild expression on his face surpassed insane. Blood covered Madiganâs hands and bare chest as if heâd painted himself in some twisted ritual. His eyes were dilated.

âYou on drugs?â Maybe drugs explained the panic that shouldnât be there. And the lost time.

âWhat does that mean, Mad Dog? You know better than to experiment with that shit.â With everything they had had pumped into their systems, even alcohol was a gamble.

âI didnât, not on purpose, Ryder, I swear, but I woke up with the worst fucking headache. Disoriented.â

Theyâd all experienced those symptoms at least once. Shit. âWhatâs the last thing you remember?â

âI went into town to get pizza. Maggie didnât feel good and the baby was fussy. I thoughtââ He pounded his forehead with the hand holding the gun. âWhy the fuck canât I remember?â

âWhat time was that?â

âLunch.â

Hours ago. âYour truckâs out front. Do you remember pulling into the drive?â

âYeah.â He pounded the back of his skull into the wall. âMaggie screamed. Thatâs what I remember. She screamed. I bolted. God, I canât believeâ I wouldnât, but I had to, itâs only me in the house. And Iâm covered in it.â His voice rose. âTheyâre my life.â

âCalm down.â Something was seriously fucking wrong, because the soldier stank with fear. Ryder took two measured steps closer.

âStay back.â Madigan lifted a handgun and aimed at center mass. âDonât take another step.â

Ryder paused. âIâm not afraid of dying.â

âNeither am I.â

Wasnât that the problem?

Keep him talking. âDid Maggie leave you?â

âI wish.â Panic lifted his voice. âNot the way you mean. I donât remember, but it had to be me.â An unfocused haze covered his eyes in a thin white film. âIâm the only one here, and thereâs so much fucking blood.â

âYouâre not making any sense.â Two steps closer. âSitrep,â he barked, demanding a situation report from the soldier.

The order snapped Madiganâs shoulders to attention. âTheyâre dead.â He twisted his bloody hand in front of his hazy eyes as if the five fingers held the answers. âTheyâre my life.â

Seconds later, something in his eyes went hard. Determination replaced the haze, causing a shift in the soldierâs stance. All the training and the mood-altering modifications clicked into place until Mad Dog metamorphosed into a warrior.

Ryder launched across the space, but he wasnât faster than a speeding bullet. Blood spatter hit him before exposing the ruined skull of a man Ryder considered a brother. Mad Dog was a soldier, a protector, and a killer. Where did one start and the others begin?

Rose barreled down the stairs at the sound of gunfire. âWhat the fuck?â He took in the sight of the fallen soldier. Theyâd seen death. Theyâd lost teammates, but theyâd never lost one like this. Train a man to kill, take away the fear, and suicide was too damned easy.

âWife and kid are dead,â Rose confirmed. âBloody fucking sacrifice. Just like Kandahar.â

One of the special teams had turned sadistic in Kandahar and taken out a local village. Bad press didnât begin to cover the fallout. The organization reacted swiftly, shutting down the program and denying any and all knowledge. Contracts were severed. Their service records heavily redacted. Overnight, the entire team was out. Out of the military, out of the war, out of the only life they knew. Team Fear took the fall.

Nothing about Mad Dogâs situation could leak. Fallout from a failed government program on U.S. soil would be catastrophic. If the company investigated, retribution would be swift and fatal.

âShit, Ryââ

âI know. Get out,â he ordered. The cops didnât need to know Rose had been in the house. âRendezvous at zero three hundred hours. If Iâm not there, you go underground.â

Rose vanished up the stairs. Outside, some idiot on a bullhorn issued threats he couldnât hear inside the macabre house of hell.

Ryder leaned against the wall, and then slid down as the world shifted under his feet. Was this what it meant to be fearless?

Sheâll do whatever it takes to find her son - Lie. Cheat. Steal. Seduce... As the former wife of an infamous crime boss, Sofia Capri is untouchable. She exists outside of the law...and outside of the criminal world. When her son is kidnapped, Sofia is desperate to find him. Sheâll do anything. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Anything but trust. But itâs a strikingly handsome FBI agent whoâs her only chance to get her baby back... Something about Sofiaâs fiery beauty must be hitting all of his weak spots, because suddenly Mr. Law And Order Logan Stone finds himself bending the rules. When theyâre implicated in the kidnapping, Logan and Sofia discover a horrifying realityâthey have less than 72 hours to find the boy and clear their names.

Cindy Skaggs grew up on stories of mob bosses, horse thieves, cold-blooded killers, and the last honest man. Those mostly true stories gave her a lifelong love of storytelling and heroes. Her search for story took her around the world with the Air Force before returning to Colorado. As a single mom, sheâs turning her lifelong love of storytelling into the one thing she canât live without: writing. She has an MA in Creative Writing, three jobs, two kids, and more pets than she can possibly handle. Find her on Facebook as Cindy Skaggs, Writer, @CLSkaggs on Twitter, or www.CSkaggs.com to sign up for her newsletter.

Interview

Q: Please tell us about Live By The Team and what inspired you to write it.

A: Every book starts with a character for me, and for this book, that character was Ryder. Heâs a badass, a little dark, and a lot sexy. Heâs prior military, accustomed to leadership, and trying to keep his disgraced Army team together while their world falls apart. I had this image of him in the desert at sundown walking into a live crime scene, snapping the yellow tape, and putting himself between the police and whoever was involved in the standoff. He lifts his shirt (women everywhere fan themselves) to prove he isnât armed or dangerous. âWell, the dangerous part was open for interpretation.â

Lauren is a good foil for him. Sheâs strong-willed, independent, and highly intelligent with a hint of insecurity and a fear of being alone. Sheâs a history professor and a PhD candidate, because even smart girls deserve love. Sheâs not above challenging Ryderâs arrogance, and sheâs been known to threaten to gut him and filet him for dinner, but at the end of the day, heâs the one man who can give her the love she craves. Together, they seriously heat up the page!

As I delved into the writing, I realized that what drew me to the story was a fascination with fear. Untouchable, my debut novel, went deep into the main characterâs fear, which at one point is immobilizing. The men of Team Fear are the exact opposite. They charge head-on at fearful things. Studying fear has become an academic focus for me, so it was only natural that my fiction would take on a new aspect of fear. Iâm in awe of the men and women of the military, police, fire, and other first responders who charge towards the trouble the rest of us run from.

Q: What themes do you explore in Live By The Team?

A recurrent theme for me revolves around abandonment and trust. Laurenâs father died fighting in Iraq when she was a kid, and her mother never emotionally recovered. Lauren is determined not to make her motherâs mistakes, so when Ryder disappears; sheâs ready to write him off. What does it take to trust? What does it take to risk it all for love, even your most visceral fear?

The other theme that is prevalent in this particular story is home. I know firsthand the difficulty of moving every few years with military orders, leaving behind friends, family, and all that is familiar. The physical location changes every few years for military members, so what makes a home? Is home a place or is it people?

Q: I understand you have an aggressive writing schedule. Are you exhausted? Do you still enjoy writing?

A: Yes. Yes it is exhausting, but also thrilling. From October â December of 2015, I wrote 2 category romantic suspense novels plus a novella in the Untouchable series that are all now with my editor at Entangled, and after seriously stretching my legs as a writer, I didnât want to slow down. The Team Fear idea had been percolating for quite some time, and this was the perfect time to work on it.

Writing is a puzzle for me. I setup a schedule where I can write close to 20 hours a week plus my MFA homework, my regular job, and teaching night classes at a local college. Oh, yeah, plus the kids and the pets and the rest of life as we know it. It is exhausting, but in the best possible way. Even when Iâm struggling with a scene, Iâm happy that I have the ability to do what I love most. I hope I always feel the joy of sitting down to the computer, putting in my ear buds, and zoning at to my make-believe world.

Q: What is your most challenging aspect of writing?

A: Starting. Until I have that clear vision in my head of the characters and the opening of the story, I resist. I listen to a playlist for every book or series that I write, and I play it all the time to immerse myself in the emotional mindset of the characters. This stage is the only time that I canât read anyone elseâs work because I need that sole focus on the incoming book. The funny thing is, I forget this every time, and every new book creates this same sad frustrating cycle until something clicks and the characters start taking on a life of their own.

Q: Describe your typical writing day?

A: I drop the kids at school and head to a coffee shop where I meet a couple of my writing friends (as often as we can all get there, anyway). We use writing sprints to keep us motivated, writing for 30 minutes at a time and comparing output. Itâs not as competitive as it sounds. Mostly, weâre encouraging each other to write more and better. Sometimes the process changes when someone has a book coming out and wants to talk about publicity, promotion, and Indie publishing, but for the most part, weâre there from 10-3 to get writing done, and all of us have improved the quality and the quantity of our work this way. Writing sprints have liberated me as a writer, because if youâre writing fast, you donât have time to get in your own way.

Q: Whatâs the happiest moment youâve lived as an author?

A: That changes with each project, but right this second, itâs Indie publishing the Team Fear series. It is flying without a net, terrifying and thrilling, but worth the ride.

Q: Is writing an obsession to you?

A: Absolutely. I get cranky (what a nice word) when I donât write. The truth is, I become a raving witch and my children run as fast and as far as they can. My son calls it âcavingâ when I need to write. âAre we caving tonight?â heâll ask, and it gives me permission to hide in my cave to write. Writing helps me get through all the crap in my head so I donât take it out on those closest to me. I could give up wine and coffee and even the gym (well, actually, that wouldnât take much incentive), but I could never give up writing. I honestly believe Iâd go crazy without the ability to create fictional worlds and fictional characters.

Q: Ray Bradbury once said, âYou must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.â Do you agree?

A: Truth. I cannot speak for other writers, but for me, reality isnât such a great concept. I think thatâs true for many creatives. Itâs why we create. If I became too much of a realist, my ability to write would disintegrate. I can handle a cruel and unjust fictional world, but a cruel real world will send me to the nearest tub of Ben & Jerryâs.

Q: Do you have a website or blog where readers can find out more about you and your work?

My blog is a little like my happy place. I love to see people there, digging through my brain for the newest relevant or irrelevant (or irreverent) post. And I love to engage in conversations (so please post and comment). http://www.cskaggs.com/see-cindy-write I have recently added a writerâs tab to my website where I post writing related topics. Iâve started and continue to facilitate a local writing group, and itâs our place to post on what weâve discussed each month, but I think the information is valuable for writers everywhere. http://www.cskaggs.com/writers

Q: How has your upbringing influenced your writing?

My dad was significantly older than my mom, and consequently, he died when I was still a kid. It flattened me, so I buried myself in books, starting with Nancy Drew. As a Pisces and a dreamer and an (un)realist, I lived in my dreamworld. I could create fiction out of any environment and lived there. It protected me as a child, and insulated me as an adult. I think the ability to live in fiction is a gift, but others would say itâs a curse, because I have a hard time facing unpleasantness (why would I do that when I can read a book!?).

Q: When and why did you begin writing?

My first short story was written in the 5th grade as a result of a creative writing prompt. I doubt Mr. Pittman meant for it to affect my life in the way that it did, but I wrote a three-page short story about my class being stuck on a cruise ship in the Bermuda Triangle. I, obviously, was the heroine of the story (yes, I saved my classâs fannies). I wrote it out, on purple paper with purple ink, and I wore an actual dress (gasp) to read it aloud to the class. After I finished, Mr. Pittman said, âNow I see why you dressed up.â From that point forward, I knew Iâd be a writer (even if I always thought it in the future tense).

Q: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

It was an extension of my reading, and it started young. I read Nancy Drew from a young age, and in the 4th grade in Mr. Neisâs class, I started reading The Little House on the Prairie books (which led to a long stage of historical fiction writing). When I was 13, my motherâs Aunt Ilene gave me a brown grocery bag filled with Harlequin romances, and I was hooked. She taught me that you âhidâ your âtrashyâ romances, and that the super-hot doctor always fell for the awkward nurse/patient. I knew I wanted to create a world that existed outside reality and that ended Happily Ever After.

Q: When did you first know you could be a writer?

I finished my first novel in high school. I never showed it to a soul, but through my historical, Civil War, âepicâ romance, I learned that I could complete a novel. Unfortunately, I never gave myself permission to pursue writing as a career. After high school, I joined the Air Force. After the Air Force, I got a âpayingâ job. I went back to college, and still didnât give credence for my desire to write. After I had kids, I âdidnât have time to write.â In 2011, I finally gave myself permission to write, and I applied to the Creative Writing program at Regis University. Thatâs when I finally knew that my desire to write could become a payable and pursuable career choice. Others probably donât need as much validation, but Iâm nothing if not persistent in my resistance.

Q: What genre are you most comfortable writing?

Like my reading, my writing is all over the card catalog. The best thing about getting a Masters in Creative Writing is the expansion of your awareness as a writer. It forces you to work in other genres, and I learned that I didnât hate them. âº I write literary nonfiction, and wouldnât have known what it was if I hadnât gone back to school. I absolutely love it. It feels very natural to write as myself (something I always thought I wouldnât do), but romance was my first love in writing, and Iâm still most comfortable there. I like the cadence and the patterns and the HEA.

Q: Did writing Live By The Team teach you anything and what was it?

Fabulous question. It taught me to face my fears and it taught me to take risks, both of which of have to do with Indie publishing and believing in my story and myself. The characters always teach me things, an unexpected and sometimes unwanted revelation. Lauren is very self-motivated and self-contained. She doesnât need a man, but man-oh-man, does she want Ryder. Itâs hard for her to give up her perceived independence and start acting as a partner, and I realize I have some of those same pig-headed tendencies. I need to learn to accept help and work together rather than independently all the time.

Q: What is your favorite quote from Live By The Team and why is it your favorite?

Asking me to pick one line out of 85,000 words is a little like asking me to pick a favorite child, but in the interests of fairness, the first line that comes to mind is something I tell my kids all the time: Love is an action word. Ryder is a smooth talker, he can quote poetry, and The Art of War, and naughty limericks, and Lauren is easily swept away the first time, but after he disappears for six months, sheâs gotten a little hard. A little bitter. âLove is an action word, Ryder. Your sweet words donât buy you a pass.â

Q: Who is your biggest supporter?

My kids. I cannot tell you how fabulous it feels for them to support me, and itâs an interesting role reversal. They tell me all the time that they think Iâm a great writer, that theyâre proud of me, and that they canât believe I have more Twitter followers than they do. J Theyâve known for years that we go without material possessions so that I can pursue my education and my writing, and while they may miss âthings,â theyâve never complained. I hope it teaches them to pursue their greatest passion.

In Live By The Team, thereâs a line where Ryder asks his army buddy why he joined Team Fear, an experimental program. Rose answers: âDoesnât matter. I signed the papers and drank the Kool-Aid.â The Kool-Aid is the symbol for what brought them to this point, so in the dedication to my kids, saying I would drink the Kool-Aid means I would repeat any and all of my life choices that led me to them, because theyâre worth everything.

Q: Who is your biggest critic?

Me, absolutely. After I finish a book, Iâm sure itâs garbage and shouldnât see the light of day. I have to put it away for awhile before I can read it and evaluate it fairly.

Q: What cause are you most passionate about and why?

My kids, single moms, writing, teaching, and the perfect pair of boots. I work three jobs, go to college, teach college classes, have kids and pets and a house and a car to maintain. All that âworkâ helped me to focus on what was important to me and what Iâm passionate about, which is split evenly between my kids and my writing. All jokes about boots aside, Iâm passionate about the inequity in this country that faces single moms as an extension of my own experiences and those of women around me, which has led to my passion for teaching, because I believe education is a way out of the bad place many women find themselves.

Q: What are you currently working on?

Finishing up the Team Fear series. Book 2 continues the story as we follow Rose in the fight against... Well, weâll just have to see. J

Q: Do you have any advice for writers or readers?

Trust your instincts. When youâre younger, you think you have to learn âthe rules.â Mostly, I want writers to trust the process. The technical aspects of writing will come the more we read and write, but if we rewrite our book every time someone mentions a ârule,â weâll kill the book faster than we would if we never wrote another word. And sadly, listening to those ârulesâ and their advocates can block us from writing at all, and that, my friends, is a tragedy. Trust your instincts. If you believe your writing should go in a certain direction, go that direction and hang the rules.

Q: What are some of your long term goals?

To rule the world...oops, thatâs the Evil Cindyâs goal. For me, I want to finish the Team Fear series, and I have another novel, more womenâs fiction than romance (no dead bodies) that Iâm rewriting as part of my MFA thesis project. Under the category of fame, fortunate, and everything that goes with it, I want to make some best seller lists, maybe get a movie deal, and as long as weâre talking dreams... Nah, those are things I canât control (even if I do want them). What I want most is to reach readers, and provide for my family. If I could write full time, that would be like winning the lottery.

Q: Are you a different person now than you were 5 years ago? In what way/s?

Not even in the same zip code as I was five years ago. I was an insecure single mom who didnât know how sheâd provide for her kids. Ironically, I lived in fear. All. The. Time. Now I donât have time for fear. Thatâs not to say it doesnât exist, but Iâm running around all the time, so fear doesnât know where to catch me. J And I embrace things that scare me, such as Indie publishing this series. Five years ago, I wouldnât have even attempted it.

Q: Do you have a press kit and what do you include in it? Does this press kit appear online and, if so, can you provide a link to where we can see it?

A: Yes. I have a list of interview questions, my bio, links to my social media sites, plus my cover photo, because, dang, Mayhem Cover Creations did a fab job on that cover!

Q: Have you either spoken to groups of people about your book or appeared on radio or TV? What are your upcoming plans for doing so?

A: I established and continue to facilitate a local writers group, so I speak monthly on various writing craft topics as well as critique both fiction and nonfiction. I was recently interviewed on the Creative Magazine Radio Show, and I participated in an annual writing program established by the Pikes Peak Library District called the Mountain of Authors. I enjoy speaking on topics of writing craft and fear.

​ Good Girl By: Lauren Layne Releasing May 17, 2016
Loveswept

​In this steamy novel from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines, country music’s favorite good girl hides away from the world—and finds herself bunking with a guy who makes her want to be a little bad.Jenny Dawson moved to Nashville to write music, not get famous. But when her latest record goes double platinum, Jenny’s suddenly one of the town’s biggest stars—and the center of a tabloid scandal connecting her with a pop star she’s barely even met. With paparazzi tracking her every move, Jenny flees to a remote mansion in Louisiana to write her next album. The only hiccup is the unexpected presence of a brooding young caretaker named Noah, whose foul mouth and snap judgments lead to constant bickering—and serious heat.

Noah really should tell Jenny that he’s Preston Noah Maxwell Walcott, the owner of the estate where the feisty country singer has made her spoiled self at home. But the charade gives Noah a much-needed break from his own troubles, and before long, their verbal sparring is indistinguishable from foreplay. But as sizzling nights give way to quiet pillow talk, Noah begins to realize that Jenny’s almost as complicated as he is. To fit into each other’s lives, they’ll need the courage to face their problems together—before the outside world catches up to them.

​JennyA week ago, I had my first burrito baby.I mean, I didn’t know I was evenpregnant.Thank God I have the tabloids to tell me these things.It happens that way sometimes, at least in Hollywood, land of the flat bellies.See, if your bellyisn’tcompletely flat, if maybe you’ve put on a few pounds courtesy of a penchant for extra guacamole on your Chipotle burrito . . .Bam. You’re at the grocery store buying tampons and M&M’s and you glance over, and there you are, all over the rag mags.Pregnant.Or at least accused of it.Because the tabloids don’t seem to care that it’s been quite some time since a guy’s been near my . . .ahem.Apparently in Hollywood you don’t need a guy. All it takes to get “knocked up” in L.A. is a tortilla the size of a hubcap and an avocado or four.Let me be clear: I am not pregnant.I just like to eat. A lot.To be honest, up until last week, when I naïvely ordered extra sour cream while wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt that apparently accentuated the fetus that wasn’t there, I hadn’t really thought a lot about Hollywood beauty standards.I mean, for starters, I’m not Hollywood. At all.I live in the Hollywood Hills, yes. I rent a Hollywood director’s home, yes. Even did a tiny cameo in a movie a few months back.But I, myself, am Jenny Dawson.A country singer.Don’t.Roll.Your.Eyes.Igetthat country music can be polarizing, I do, I really do. But IswearI don’t twang about dead dogs and dusty highways. I just write songs about real life.Mylife. And then I sing them.Formerly in the shower, and now on the radio.Where was I going with this?Oh, right.Hollywood.And how I’m not it.It’s not that I hate Los Angeles. Sure, the traffic sucks, and the women of SoCal have more than their fair share of silicone between the shoulders, but the city’s got its good points too. The weather. The ocean. The shopping.But the paparazzi thing has been getting under my skin.I’m not one of those girls who moved here to get famous. I was already famous, courtesy ofAll of Megoing double platinum last year.When my agent and label suggested that some time in L.A. might be good for maintaining my “mainstream” popularity, I didn’t really fight it. See above points about weather and ocean.But I wasn’t counting on beingquiteso center stage all the time.I certainly wasn’t counting on the fact that I’d be embracing the homemade smoothie revolution. And actually,embracingis a strong word. Let’s just say I had to actually read the instructions before I knew how to work the fancy blender. And yes, Imayhave allowed my weight gain, and the tabloids’ notice of it, to shame me into the land of kale and quinoa.And there you have it. The backstory of why I’m currently standing in the kitchen of a rented house, wearing yoga pants and a pink sports bra, and trying to work up the courage to ingest the green goo in front of me.

​Lauren Layne is the USA Today Bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels.

Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. A year after moving from Seattle to NYC to pursue a writing career, she had a fabulous agent and multiple New York publishing deals.

Lauren currently lives in Manhattan with her husband and plus-sized Pomeranian. When not writing, you'll likely find her running (rarely), reading (sometimes), or at happy hour (often).

About Me

I'm a Texas gal with a wonderful husband, an amazing six year old son, and an adorable newborn baby boy!​My blog is about the best things in life - cooking, books, giveaways and reviews of everyday products! ​This is a PR-friendly blog!!